


Stitches and Time

by ladyarcherfan3



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9321638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyarcherfan3/pseuds/ladyarcherfan3
Summary: Alara Nel is a seamstress who keeps getting an unusually large number of orders for Jedi robes from an Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Over the years, she learns why and gets to know the Jedi a little bit better.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This started out a crack fic about Obi-Wan always tossing away his robe for dramatic effect, and morphed into something a little less silly and developed a couple of OC's to help tell the story. 
> 
> Thanks as always to glorious_clio for her beta work.

Alara Nel frowned down at the work order on her screen.  “Another one?” she wondered aloud.  

“Another one what?” called back Van Sanger from his workspace. 

“An order from the Jedi temple, with the sub heading of Padawan Kenobi, care of Master Jinn.  And it is expedited, payment on receipt.”  

Van turned around, head cocked to one side.  “That’s interesting.  Didn’t you just have one last week from them?”  

“That’s what I’m saying!”  She punched the information into her computer and added the project to her list.  

“Is the kid growing?  My kids shot up what felt like inches at a time, and they went through clothes constantly.”

“There is no way a human had a growth spurt in the space of a week that would make them out grow Jedi robes.”  She waved her arms to indicate the amount of fabric in a Jedi robe; even their tunics and pants were loose fitting.  “If this padawan was a Twi’lek, then maybe.  I certainly did,” she added, but she pulled up the order from the week before and checked the measurements.  “Nope, all the same size.”

Van shrugged and reset his machine; the computer whirled and drove mechanical scissors through several layers of thick cloth, following the preset pattern.  “Maybe they need extra.  Kids also rip and stain their clothes a lot.”

“Even Jedi younglings and padawans?” Alara mused as she turned back to her own machine and pulled off a set of cut pattern pieces.  

“Kids are kids,” Van replied.  His hoverchair whirred quietly as he zoomed around to the other side of his machine to catch the cut cloth. 

“Huh.  There’s a special handling note with this order, too.  They’re going to pick up the order themselves, and not have it sent up to the Jedi Temple as usual.  That explains the payment on receipt.”  

The Jedi Temple employed the services of multiple shops and merchants throughout Coruscant, to meet the needs of the multiple species of the Jedi Order, and payments were usually sent straight through to the individual accounts and the goods sent through couriers.  It was rare that a Jedi would come to the shop to pick up and pay for an order.  But a work order was a work order, and Alara turned her attention back to her current projects.      

The question of the Jedi robes was forgotten until a few days later, when, close on the heels of the notice of completion that had been sent to the Jedi temple, the padawan showed up.  As the shop door swung shut behind him, Alara caught a glimpse of the padawan’s master in the speeder just outside; he seemed as serene and aloof as any Jedi she had ever seen or met, but she thought she saw a hint of smile on his face.  

The padawan - Obi-Wan, she remembered from the work order - was far from smiling.  He shuffled into the shop, his head low, hands uneasy by his side. And he was without his long brown robe.  

Alara smiled at him, moving from her machine to the front counter.  “Hello, Padawan Kenobi.  Just give me a moment to get your order.”

He ducked his head, and Alara realized he didn’t look so much nervous as she had first thought, but embarrassed.  He didn’t make eye contact, shuffled his feet, and glanced about the shop, lips pursed.  

Alara pulled out the wrapped package of padawan sized robes, and accepted the credits that Kenobi pushed across the counter.  “I have to say, I am surprised to have another order from you so soon.” 

He flushed and just stopped a scowl, but then took a deep breath and smoothed his expression.  “Yes.  Well.  I do thank you for your speed and excellent work.”  He looked like he wanted to be done, but then plunged on.  “I lost the last of my robes, and needed replacements on short notice.  My master suggested I learn a lesson in responsibility for my possessions and respect for the work others put into making them.  So I am paying with my own credits and here to pick up the order for myself.”  

Alara fought the smile that rose the strange little confession rolled out.  Padawan Kenobi grimaced and glanced out over his shoulder towards the door, but turned back just as quickly.  He bowed, and left the shop as fast as he could without running. 

As soon as the door closed, Alara turned back towards Van, her face aching against the pull of a grin.  Van didn’t even bother, he just collapsed into chortles, narrowly missing the waving arms of his machine as he fell forward.  Alara tossed back her head and laughed as well.     

“What was that?” he gasped. 

“Clearly some sort of lesson, as he said!” Alara grinned back.  “It’s not something I would have expected from a Jedi.  But what do I know about Jedi?”

“I have done similar things to my children; it’s nice to know that the Jedi aren’t so strange and different from the rest of us.”

“This one’s Master, at least.”  Alara glanced at the chrono.  “Come on, let’s close for lunch.”

Alara hadn’t expected to see Padawan Kenobi after that first time, assuming that he would have learned his lesson, and would be more careful with his robes.  It seemed however, that even if the embarrassment of the first trip hadn’t been severe enough, because about two months later he was back.  

“Back so soon?” Alara asked before she could stop herself.

The padawan just nodded and ignored the flush of embarrassment on his cheeks as he shrugged a shoulder.  “It took me a while to lose all of them.”  

Van strangled a laugh in the background, but Kenobi just collected his robes, handed over the credits and left again.  

The cycle continued for years.  Sometimes it was a month or two between visits, other time it was just weeks.  He was a little taller every time, his padawan braid a little longer, and his embarrassment faded away entirely.  His shrugs turned into crooked, apologetic grins, but then became honest but self deprecating smiles.  Alara and Van stopped the teasing, and struck up conversations instead, if Kenobi had time or if there were no customers.

Alara was rather surprised at how well she got to know Padawan Kenobi and how much he remembered about them.  She didn’t know any other Jedi on even the most basic personal level, so she had something of an excuse to remember - but he was a Jedi.  Wouldn’t the demands of being a peacekeeper and the excitement of all the travel drive the trivia of a couple of clothing manufacturers out of his head? 

It clearly didn’t, as Padawan Kenobi - “Good grief, that’s so formal.  Just call me Obi-Wan” - was sure to ask after Van’s children, Alara’s girlfriend, and anything that had been happening in the shop since he’d visited last.   

He shared stories of his own as well, breaking down some of the awe Alara had around the Jedi.  

“I will never be convinced that half the errands the masters have the padawan run are just giant jokes, intended to keep us busy and them entertained!”  

Alara figured out how to gauge if Obi-Wan was going off planet by how many robes he ordered.  Van set up friendly bets between them about how many more would be ordered and when the order would come through.  The prize was just buying lunch for the other, but it was none the less a hotly contested bet every time.  It was a nice break from the well worn patterns of the every day. 

On one visit, the conversation turned to darker subjects. 

“Have you two heard anything about tainted water filters?” Obi-Wan asked; his tone was carefully casual.

Alara didn’t respond immediately, but watched him out of the corner of her eye.  He kept his face smooth, but his eyes were focused.

“No, I haven’t heard of anything,” Van replied, hoverchair buzzing over to the front counter.  “Is there a recall that we should know about?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.  “No.  I’ve just been hearing some rumors, and wondered if you had as well.”  

Alara smirked internally.  He was too earnest to be anything but extremely interested.  She decided to help him out, and cut out the fluff.  “Is this joke errand from your Master, like you’re told us about, or something more serious?”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips and scrubbed a hand over his lower face; a faint flush crept up his cheeks.  “If my Master is correct, it is not a joke.  But if he’s not… I don’t know how much the Council will be laughing at his wasting time either.”

“Go to Dex’s Diner.  Tell Dexter that Alara Nel sent you.” 

Both Obi-Wan and Van’s eyebrows went up; Van’s jaw dropped.  Alara just returned their gazes, face impassive. 

Obi-Wan pulled himself together and bowed.  “Thank you.  As ever, for your work on the robes, and now for your help.”  

Once he left, Van spun to face Alara.  “Since when do you have a shady background?”

She shrugged.  “We all come from somewhere.”

Van left it alone, but he looked at her the same way he had looked at Jedi - wonder and something close to distrust. 

That dissipated well before the next time they saw Obi-Wan.  She was grateful.  They were business partners and friends.  She didn’t want to lose that over a past she had left well behind her.   

Since developing the odd little relationship with Obi-Wan, Alara and Van both took a bit more interest in the news and anything Jedi related in particular. The Jedi Order were peacekeepers, so whenever there was turmoil in the galaxy, some Jedi’s name was bound to pop up in the holocasts.  Obi-Wan and his Master Qui-Gon Jinn were no exception.   

Van came back into the shop after lunch one day asking, “Did you hear about the blockade with Naboo and the Trade Federation?”

“I know it exists and it isn’t pretty,” Alara replied.  “What happened?”

“There was a battle.”  Van zoomed over to the back of the shop and flipped on the holovision screen.  Images declaring to be the Royal Palace in Theed flashed up on the screen, and the newscaster's voice started up in mid sentence.  Too impatient to let Alara listen to the newscaster, Van plunged on.  “The Jedi sent ambassadors, the negotiations fell through, and the Trade Federation took Queen Amidala hostage to sign a treaty.  But the Jedi ambassadors helped them out and got them back to the Senate.”

“I’d heard that,” Alara said.  “What now?”  

“Queen Amidala went  _ back _ , and the Naboo ended up allying with the Gungans, and they gained control again and broke the blockade and brokered peace all around.”  He paused, and then pointed, “There!”

Alara turned her attention back to the screen, and saw a crowd of people on the steps of the palace.  There was a massive Gungan and a tiny young woman in an ornate dress, pilots and soldiers… “Oh!” she said as she spotted Obi-Wan in the crowd.  “He must have been one of the negotiators and been there in the battle!  Well done, him!”  

Van laughed.  “Look at us!  Some sort of cross between proud parents and obsessed fans!”

Alara snorted.  “Let’s just be the impressed and proud friends - of sorts - when we see him next and congratulate him on his good work.”

The chance came a few days later, forewarned by a work order.  When Obi-Wan walked in, Alara cut short her happy greeting.  

His face was a little grey with weariness, and his eyes seemed sore, by the way he squinted in the well lit shop.  His padawan braid was missing.

“Obi-Wan?” Alara asked, voice soft.  “I have your order.”  

“Thank you,” he said as he made his way to the counter.  

Van moved away from his machine and joined Alara up front.  “We heard about the Naboo Blockade and the battle and all that from the holocasts.”  He gestured to the side of Obi-Wan’s head, where there was no longer a braid.  “Did you get a promotion because of all that?”

Obi-Wan huffed something like a laugh, but Alara saw his eyes get wet.  

“You could say that,” he said.  “I’ve passed the tests and been granted the title of Knight now.”

“Well done!”

“Congratulations.”  

He nodded again.  “And I have a padawan myself, now.”

“So quickly?” Alara wondered out loud.  

“He was meant to be trained by Qui-Gon, but…” His voice faltered and he stopped.

Alara’s stomach dropped at the sound of the sorrow in his voice, and she felt Van freeze next to her as he realized what that meant as well.  “I’m so sorry, Obi-Wan.  Did he die in the battle?”

He gave a quick nod.  “He is one with the Force now.  And I’m a Knight with a padawan,” he added after a moment, his voice lightening in disbelief and humor.  He picked up his order, tucking it under an arm.  “I will need to bring Anakin down here to get his measurements taken for his clothing as well.  We’ve found spares for him for now, but he’ll need more.” 

“Hopefully he’s a little more careful with his robes than you,” Alara teased.  “Or you’ll never have any credits to your name.”  

“May the Force be with us all for that,” he said, a hint of his humor coming back.  

They met Anakin, whose bright attitude and observation skills both seemed to exasperate and entertain Obi-Wan.  It didn’t take long before they learned his story, and Alara felt that they were good for each other, having lived through a great loss and kept moving forward.

Anakin also seemed to be a good influence on Obi-Wan’s ability to keep track of his possessions.  He went over a year between visits; Alara filled orders and sent them back to the Temple for Anakin as he grew, but Obi-Wan seemed to finally have his life in enough of an order to keep track of his robes.  He certainly looked more the part of a Jedi master, his hair growing out, and a well trimmed beard making him look older and wiser.  

“Maybe Anakin is a good influence on you - the student teaching the teacher,” Van said when the topic to the robes came up during one of Obi-Wan’s visits.

“Oh, undoubtedly.  Or my own master’s lessons might finally be taking hold in my own habits.”  He grinned.  “Though Anakin has his own set of bad habits - he is forever staining his clothing.  Engine grease, caf, what have you.”

Van caught Alara’s eye and grinned.  “Kids are kids.”  

Alara burst into laughter, and Obi-Wan looked between the two of them in confusion.  She waved her hand and managed to stem the mirth.  “Van said the same thing about you, the first time we got your order.”

Obi-Wan looked horrified.  “Now you’re just making me feel old!” 

Alara had the same momentary rush of horror at being old when Anakin walked into the store one day to pick up his order personally.  He had clearly found a way around the staining issue, as he requested dark colors for an entire new set of clothing, robes, tunics and pants.  And even though she had put in the current measurements for him, she hadn’t realized how much he’d grown.  

“When did you grow up?” she asked in surprise as he came up to the counter.  

He frowned.  “I haven’t had a growth spurt in a while…”

“Well, it’s felt like a long time since I’ve seen you!  You’ve got to be taller than Obi-Wan by now!”

A pleased, crooked grin flashed across his face.  “I am.  And I know it annoys him, but he refuses to say that it does.  Doesn’t stop me from teasing him, though.”

Alara rolled her eyes and handed Anakin his order.  “I am sure the two of you keep that score even.  Give my regards to him.”

“I will.” 

It was a long time before Alara saw either of them again.  The Clone Wars didn’t touch Coruscant hard enough to affect her and Van, though it was an ever present background horror.  They kept an eye and ear on the holocasts, awaiting any turmoil that would hit close to home, that would affect their business. And of course, they kept a lookout for anything that Obi-Wan - and Anakin as well - were involved in.  And they were relieved when the pair walked into their shop again.

Obi-Wan was equally more grave and humorous, unable to leave behind the shadows of war and just as determined to find the good in any situation.  His hair and beard had developed a touch of grey, but his laugh lines were more pronounced.  In the same amount of time Anakin had topped out four inches taller than his master, had been made a Knight, and acquired a scar across his eye.  

“And we are both commanders,” Anakin told Alara and Van.  

“Now, Anakin, it’s not becoming of a Jedi to brag,” Obi-Wan replied mildly, even as congratulations were offered.

“It’s not bragging if it’s true,” he shot back.

“I suppose if we are to regale them with our war stories, it does make sense to include all the facts,” Obi-Wan said, hiding a grin behind his hand as he stroked his mustache.  

“Do you want to fill them in on the facts of  Cato Nemoidia , Master?”  Anakin’s grin was almost predatory.  

“No, no, that’s fine, we have to be going,” Obi-Wan said, grabbing their orders and nearly sprinting for the door.

Anakin laughed and tossed the credits to Alara, who caught them on reflex, torn between confusion and amusement.

“Thank you again, Alara, Van!” Obi-Wan called from the door just before he ducked out. 

“Until next time,” Anakin added as he bowed and walked out at a more sedate pace.

Not long after the Battle of Coruscant, Alara and Van went through their inventory and records.  They had been lucky enough that the debris from the battle hadn’t found its way through the atmosphere and the levels of the city above them to cause damage, but some of their suppliers had not had the same fortune.  It was a reminder to be thankful, and to do some organization to appreciate everything they had.  

“I want you to take a guess at how many robes Obi-Wan Kenobi has ordered in the last three years,” Van said from the main computer.  

Alara paused in measuring out lose yardage of Naboo silk.  “He was here a few times… I’ll say eight.”

“Wrong!  It’s six today - an order just came through.”  Van grinned.  “Your turn to buy lunch tomorrow!”

“We didn’t bet!”  

“It was implied!”  

When Obi-Wan came a few days later, Van was working the front counter while Alara fought a mild battle between her machine and some heavy canvas that had gotten jammed.  She gave a quick wave at his greeting.

“You’re only ordering one?” Van asked as he handed over the robe and collected tickets.

“Hmm, yes.  I have a few left from last time,” Obi-Wan replied, his mind obviously elsewhere.  

“Is the war cooling down out at all?” Alara asked as she freed the rumpled canvas.  “We haven’t heard much lately because the broadcasts have been focusing on Coruscant.”

“We all hope for the end of it, but I am afraid I am not at liberty to say exactly what the situation is,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Well, good luck with everything,” Alara replied. 

Van nodded his agreement.  “See you next time.”

There was no next time.

Everything was falling apart.  The holocasts were ringing with conflicting reports, and the rumors flying from mouth to mouth didn’t help.

_ The Jedi Order had fallen. _

_ The Jedi Order had turned and rebelled against the Chancellor. _

_ All the Jedi were dead. _

_ The troopers were for the protection of citizens. _

_ The troopers were there to stamp out rebellion. _

_ They were there to cause hell. _

Then the reports from the Senate, from the Chancellor himself, came on.  He confirmed that the Jedi had wanted to overthrow the Senate.  They had been stopped, and would be hunted down.  The Republic was now to be the Galactic Empire.    

Alara couldn’t believe it.  As steady as Coruscant had always been, as safe and secure as she should feel curled up on her own couch with her girlfriend, she was terrified.  The world had changed.  And she wasn’t sure if it was for the best.  She hugged Jaelren close for a moment and then kissed her on the forehead.  

“I need to comm Van.”  

Jaelren looked up, brows knit and face pale.  “Okay.  Why?” 

“Business stuff.” 

“You think that this is going to affect your shop?” 

Alara sighed.  “One way or the other, yes.” 

She left a message for Van, asking him if he’d seen the reports, and if he’d heard about any of their customers who might have been affected.  He didn’t get back to her, and she went to bed with a knot of anxiety in her belly.

Van looked like he had spent an equally uneasy night when they opened the shop the next morning.  “My youngest is scared.  She all but hero worshiped the Jedi from the stories about Obi-Wan and Anakin I told her.  And now they are being hunted down?”

“Did you see any reports that included their names?  Jaelran made me turn off all the holocasts after a few hours.  She couldn’t understand why I was so worked up.  She’s nervous, but…” Alara shrugged and raised a hand, palm up, in defeat.  

“I know.  We probably aren’t even anywhere near their thoughts unless they need new clothes.  And still, I’d like to think we were all friends.”  

A few hours later a report came across the holos, listing out the members of the Jedi Order who were still at large.  Obi-Wan’s name was on that list.  Anakin’s was not.

Alara pressed her hands over her eyes for a moment; she heard Van sigh and slump in his hoverchair.

“I guess that answers that question,” he said quietly.

Alara gave a wet little laugh.  “Poor Obi-Wan.”  

Van gave her a sharp look for the laugh.  “That he’s lost his former padawan and is being hunted?”     

“Yes.  And I was just imagining him having to keep track of whatever robes he has left…”

Van blinked a few times, and then snorted a chuckle.  “May the Force be with him, for that and everything else.”

Business faltered, staggered a bit, and then got back on its feet.  Van retired, as he was getting to that age, and the shop wasn’t busy enough for two people anymore.  So Alara was alone when she got an unusual order.  Since the Galactic Empire had gained its footing and stood strong, she rarely got customers who didn’t come in and pay directly.  Most people were determined to hang onto their credits as much as possible and not use the electronic banking system.  

The order was for a set of robes, in brown, in a style was was referred to only by the pattern number and not the name, as was usual.  

They were Jedi robes.

Alara stood for a few minutes, just staring at the screen.  “That daft man,” she breathed eventually, and pushed back all of her orders to fill that one. 

When they were finished, she secreted a little tracker into the hem of one.  It wasn’t unusual to do so on orders that had to go a long way; it ensured she could know where it was, if it had been lost she could offer to replace it, or prove that it had reached its destination and the customer could look elsewhere for a free garment.  

She tracked it to Alderaan, where the signal suddenly disappeared.  The tracker must have been destroyed.  There was nothing else she could do.  She just hoped that whoever had gotten the robes on Alderaan was a friend to Obi-Wan.  

She decided that day that she would always keep a supply of brown material and a copy of the pattern for the Jedi robes.  It was the least she could do, for a friend and for what she had loved about the Republic as it had been, and what it could be again.

  
She never knew when a Jedi who had a long history of misplacing his robes would need a replacement.  


End file.
